


The brief (yet extended) history of Jaeseok and Gasaeng

by charons_boat



Category: Original Work
Genre: 3 + 1 Things, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Dragons, Finding home, Injury, M/M, Magic, Princes, Set in the Past, Shapeshifting, Strangers to Lovers, elements of a fairytale, extending home and shelter to injured persons, villager/prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28020315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charons_boat/pseuds/charons_boat
Summary: 3 times Jaeseok met the Prince, and one time the Prince met Jaeseok.
Relationships: Hwang Jaeseok | Jae/Lee Gasaeng
Kudos: 1
Collections: WIP OLYMPICS: WINTER 2020/21





	The brief (yet extended) history of Jaeseok and Gasaeng

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for my mythology/folklore final. enjoy gasaeng, my newest oc

1\. The Prince in the Courtyard  
Lee Gasaeng: beautiful, enchanting, and mysterious. The Prince is an untouchable, unfathomable beauty. Many of the girls in the village describe him as a willow tree, slender and tall, with a face that unfolds like the petals of a night-blooming flower as he smiles. His long hair, so far as anyone can tell, is naturally the deep, turquoise blue of a deep, cold spring; it’s never been any other color, not the inky black of his parents, or even the heartwood brown or dried-grass gold of travelers that come through the city. He’s strange, with his vibrant, cerulean and emerald eyes. 

Prince Gasaeng stands tall and proud next to his father, one of the wisest, most benevolent Kings that our kingdom has had in recent memory. The courtyard is filled with a noisy, bustling crowd, and people bump into each other as they fight to get closer. The girls up front chatter loudly enough that the average tone of the crowd is high and sweet, if somewhat obnoxious. The crowd only quiets when the King raises his hand, gesturing silently to Gasaeng once silence reigns. 

“We’ve gathered you, our loyal denizens, in the royal courtyard to present you with gifts. As thanks for all your hard work--for the toil of your kin in the fields, at the loom, in the kitchens--we’ve gathered some of our wealth into packets for you, to bolster your families through the coming winter. Please, keep yourselves well this year.” Gasaeng is near my age, a year or two older perhaps, but his voice is smooth, self-assured, sweet, and caring. He sounds ages older than he looks, his face still soft with youth. 

We were so young, and he already seemed so promising. It looked that he’d follow his father’s example and continue to care for the people before royal status. 

2\. The Dragon in the Lake  
The lake, just beyond the trailing edges of the village outside the city, is wide and deep, edged on one side by mountains and the other by a cliff, over which the waters cascade into the feathery spray of a waterfall. The road down the cliff is winding and thin, barely-there in some places that are so rocky even donkeys have trouble. On the far side is another village, the one I live in. There is rarely snowfall at the feet of the mountains, but sometimes the lake floods when the rains fill the places beyond the mountains. So, the main force of the village rests as high up the mountains as it can without risking damage from the mountain itself. 

The lake is bountiful with fish and attracts snakes, turtles, and deer, all of which we use as the basis for our meals. The water is cool even on the hottest days, and it stays fairly clear year-round. In winter, though, the water goes still and clear, so clear that we can see every fish, can see everything resting on the bottom of the lake. There are holes here and there, few and far between, where the catfish live. They’re big and old, and they rarely come to our bait, but when they do we always make sure to pay them respect for their old spirits before making a special dish out of them. 

Recently--it only started in my lifetime, which I learned from the only other person who’s seen it--something has moved into the lake. It usually comes on summer nights, when the cloak of darkness keeps its form indistinct and strange. The old woman I live with comes out with me some nights, helping me keep watch for the turtle dragon. She says it must be young because in the time we’ve watched it (thirteen years now), it’s grown significantly larger. It’s big enough that if you hadn’t lived here your whole life, if you were unfamiliar with the lake and the things in it, its shell would seem to be another island in the lake. 

The one time I saw the turtle dragon in the light, the sun had just started to rise. The sky was blazing with its own fire, and I nearly missed the form of it in the lake. But I was still able to catch sight of it, of the deep blue shell speckled with gold and green. It had a gold-tinted beard and foamy green horns, with scales similar in color to its shell. It was mostly submerged, but I could still tell it was beautiful. From then on, any time we were graced with one of the ancient catfish, I made sure to throw a portion of it to the dragon in the lake. 

3\. The Boy from the Market  
The night market is filled with the hearty aromas of local food, subtle notes of both spice and sweetness floating through the air. The heady scent is enough to make a person feel starved, so it’s not surprising to find most of the patrons at food stalls. It’s more strange, in fact, to see the cloaked boy standing at a stall selling shiny, metal statuettes. He marvels most at the forms of legendary creatures, like the Chinese qilin and the turtle dragon, which reminds me of the lake back home. The dragon hasn’t been out on the water quite so often recently. 

I don’t mean to keep watching him, but he’s captivating. His long hair is a beautiful, silky black, and I swear I catch the glinting of light off faint scales around his eyes. There’s an indistinct symbol on his forehead, like a character drawn by a skillful hand in the finest cerulean ink. It gives me the impression of subtle danger. I can barely see his face, but he grins as he turns, and he’s gone in a flash. The smile had brought an extreme, youthful radiance to his face for that brief moment. 

The little stall he’d stopped at is filled with statues of foreign gods and local myths. There’s a fragile, jade statuette of a turtle dragon. It bears a striking resemblance to the dragon in the lake, and despite the small scale--it’d fit in the palm of my hand--it’s incredibly detailed. I perhaps don’t have the money to be spending on it, so I ponder for a moment before asking, “The boy here before me: what was he looking at?” The vender smiles brightly, trying to catch a sale after the last promising customer left with nothing. Before he can begin to speak, I fix him with a stare and quietly ask him not to lie to me. He falters before his smile is right back up. 

“He was looking at a figure very similar to the one you were looking at, this one here.” I’m surprised to find that he was looking at another jade statue of a turtle dragon, but this one, while also perched upon a pile of coins, has a small turtle upon its back. It’s also cheaper and not so finely crafted. 

“Who made this one?” The vendor puffs up proudly as he responds. 

“My daughter crafted this one! She’ll be thirteen in a few weeks, and I’d planned to put whatever I made off her carvings towards her gift this year.” He’s practically glowing with pride, and it brings a helpless smile to my face. 

“I see. How much is it?” I empty near my entire coin pouch, so I find myself glad that I’d already brought everything else I needed. The vendor sets it in a box of polished oak, but he vehemently refuses when I try to pass him a few more coins for it. I offer him a smile and wish his daughter a happy birthday as I leave. I can’t help but wonder where the cloaked boy went. 

4\. The Boy in the Lake  
It’s not uncommon for things to wash into the lake after a big storm. The water runs down the mountains and floods both the river and the lake, and sometimes branches fall from the trees and animals get caught in the torrent. We always comb the beach for anything valuable before cleaning up. We go by the principle of finders-keepers and often hold little meetings in the town square afterwards, just in case anyone wants to trade. 

This is the first time anyone has ever found a live person, and the honor went to me, of all people. The boy is grimy and battered from his trip in the water, his clothes torn and his skin bright red in places from scrapes and irritated cuts. When I pick him up, his waterlogged form drags against me, tries to tumble me to the ground. The swamped boy is lucky I’m a village boy and not one of the helpless nobles from the city. 

Something about his face is familiar to me, something I puzzle over as I walk towards my little house. People stare as I pass, and one of the girls goes running for the village doctor when she sees the blood rolling down his face. His hair is a tangled, awkward mess; the braid in the back is the longest part, falling to the small of his back, while the hair on either side of his face is choppy and uneven. It’s longer on the left, and the right was clearly cut in a few short strokes. His hair is a patchwork of black and blue-green, but the black is what stains my fingers when I carefully run my fingers through his hair. 

Thankfully, we’re about the same size, so when the doctor comes--quickly stripping my bed of its sheet and quilt and lying the boy on it--I bustle about, getting clean clothes ready for him. I set the clothes on the bedside table and wait for a few moments. The doctor keeps working quietly, and the boy stays sleeping. He looks peaceful underneath all the grime and blood smeared across his face. 

“I’m going to put on some tea for you. What should I make, in case he wakes up,” I ask the doctor quietly. She’s a kind, older woman who’s seen most of the village born. 

“Soup. Something light and easy,” she murmurs. I nod and leave the room, filling the tea pot before starting some light cooking for the soup. It’s quiet and easy, and soon enough, my nerves calm and it feels just like any other day. But then there’s a gasp and a groan, and I nearly drop the cup of tea in my haste to get to my room. The boy’s eyes are foggy, but they brighten when he sees me. I carefully set the doctor’s tea on the table and stand next to the bed. He reaches out and grabs my hand, surprising me. 

“I know you,” he murmurs, his voice strained but still sweet. It’s a familiar voice, one I’m sure I’ve heard before. I smile at him, trying to be gentle as I crouch next to him. Being this close, I can see the mark on his forehead and the scales shimmering faintly about his eyes and cheeks. 

“The boy from the night market.” He nods, and then giggles. 

“Somewhere else too, though.” His eyes--a vibrant, electric teal that doesn’t feel real--pierce through me, and I gasp. He nods shyly, laughing again. “Don’t tell,” he implores. I can’t help but agree. “What’s your name?”

“Hwang Jaeseok.”

“I’m glad you found me. You seem very safe.” That brings a blush to my face. Soon, the doctor has him all cleaned and bandaged, and he’s dressed up in my clean clothes. 

“You can stay until you’re healed, but you have to go back eventually, okay?” The Prince looks a little sad about that, but agrees anyways. 

“Can I keep coming back? The people here give me bits of this delicious catfish sometimes, and--”

“Wait. You’re the dragon in the lake?!”

“Yup! It’s nice to come down here. It’s peaceful.” I share the sentiment, and after a moment, I know I have my answer. 

“Yes. You can keep coming back. But you have to be more careful next time! No more swimming during storms.” He only giggles in response, and I sigh. Who knew a Prince could be so mischievous.

When he’s finally healed and gone, I find the jade turtle dragon statuette is gone, though the little turtle on its back has been skillfully removed and placed on the little table by my bed. I grin widely and leave it there; I’d intended the statue for the boy from the market anyhow.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to yell at me on twt @sunwooseok_


End file.
